People Might Talk
by Lastew
Summary: What might have happened if Moriarty hadn't come back to the pool at the end of The Great Game and Sherlock and John kept up that flirting?
1. Chapter 1

Title: People Might Talk

Author's Name: Laura Sichrovsky

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 13,911 total – 5485 for this part

Pairing: Sherlock/John

Warnings: Sherlock/John kissage, and shaggage

Spoilers: For the end of The Great Game

Summary: What might have happened if Moriarty hadn't come back to the pool at the end of The Great Game and Sherlock and John kept up that flirting?

Disclaimer: This is where I put the statement saying that I do not own John or Sherlock, (Heh! I wish!), or anything relating to the show or books. No one is paying me to do this and if you feel the sudden urge to send me gifts, you might want to talk to someone about that. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat own all things _Sherlock_ and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Holmes and Watson. None of them have given me permission to use these characters as I have so if you have problems with the story, please send the pretzel bombs to me, not them. (Though if you could actually send a pretzel bomb to ACD, I'd be impressed.)

Author's Notes: A friend of mine asked me what would have happened if Jim hadn't come back to the pool, being as Sherlock and John seemed to be flirting there. I rather liked the idea, so here is what I came up with. Thanks need to be given, and here is where they go. Thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for giving me a Sherlock I can get behind. Thanks to Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman for making this Sherlock and John so amazing. I tried to fight it, but they were just too remarkable not to fall for. Big thank yous to Emma de los Nardos for her input and Gemma for the super-fast beta job and helping me pull this apart and put it back together. Thank you to Elin for reading this over for me. And my biggest thank yous to my guiding influence and my best friend, Ann. She's the best beta ever and the Sherlock to my John. Without her, I am nothing. (Couldn't do it without you, love. Wouldn't want to try.)

People Might Talk

Wednesday March 30, 2011 (12:30 am) - Sherlock's point of view:

This isn't how Sherlock envisioned things going. In all the mental scenarios he'd run through, this hadn't even been a remote possibility. Admittedly, he'd anticipated that things with Moriarty could turn dangerous; there was a reason that he had brought John's gun with him. Sherlock accepted that he might be putting himself directly in the line of fire, but it was a risk he was willing to take if it stopped this lunatic from harming anyone else. However, while Sherlock was willing to trade pretty much anything, including his own soul, in this bargain to bring down a criminal genius, John's life was not subject to negotiation. And yet, John, who had been safely on his way to spend the night with Sarah, well out of harm's way, is standing three meters from Sherlock with enough explosives strapped to him to level the British Museum.

Sherlock's shoulders are starting to ache from the rigid posture he's maintaining, keeping his wrists locked and the Browning trained on Moriarty. His mind is racing, shuffling through escape plans, dismissing them almost as soon as they materialize for various reasons, ranging from "wouldn't work" to "the bomb would go off" to "just downright stupid." There has to be some way for them to get out in one piece; he simply hasn't thought of it yet.

Moriarty shifts his shoulders, changing his stance a bit. He looks at Sherlock and smiles.

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?" His voice is polite, belying the dire nature of their conversation. Something about his attitude annoys Sherlock and he rolls his eyes.

"Oh, let me guess; I get killed."

Moriarty looks disappointed, like Sherlock's given the wrong answer on a game show or something equally trivial. It sends a twist of unease through Sherlock, making him feel like he's missed something, though he couldn't even begin to guess what.

"Kill you? Eh, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying," Moriarty's voice drops, sounding deeper, darker, and he leans forward just a bit. "I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

He chokes out the last sentence, his voice catching in his throat, making him seem a bit deranged. Sherlock feels uneasy as he realizes that John's life hangs on the whims of this nut job. He narrows his eyes, feeling the need to be just a bit defiant.

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock says slowly, keeping his voice soft.

Moriarty looks at Sherlock and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. His expression changes to one of understanding and Sherlock feels anxiety wind through him. Moriarty tips his head just the slightest bit.

"But we both know that's not quite true." His eyes drift marginally in John's direction and Sherlock is fighting panic.

There is no way that Moriarty could know how Sherlock feels about John; even John doesn't know. Sherlock has worked to keep his emotions in check, to never betray anything but friendly regard for John, as hard as that has been. Sherlock is determined that he will keep it to himself until he can get over these feelings. It's for the best really, considering that John doesn't return them. It's obvious that he's interested in Sarah and that he could never look at Sherlock that way. And as Sherlock has never displayed an outward sign of his affections, it seems entirely implausible that Moriarty has figured it out. He must be referring to John and Sherlock's friendship, trying to use that as a weak point.

They stand and look at each other for about ten seconds, but to Sherlock it seems so much longer. Behind Moriarty, Sherlock sees John, looking slightly confused at the turn the conversation's taken. He also seems to be looking around, assessing strengths and weaknesses and Sherlock feels a rush of pride and affection for this man who has Sherlock's back. Moriarty shifts again, looking at Sherlock.

"Well, I'd better be off." He turns and looks back at John. "So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock adjusts his weight, easing the pinching between his shoulders and realigning the gun so it's trained right between Moriarty's eyes.

"What if I was to shoot you now; right now?" Sherlock asks, his eyes darting, his mind racing.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty opens his mouth and makes a frankly creepy comical surprised face. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit…disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

Moriarty turns, his posture easing just a bit.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

And then, shockingly, Moriarty is slowly walking away and Sherlock and John are still in one piece. Sherlock wants to run to John, to make sure he is safe, but he will not let his guard down with a man as unpredictable as Jim Moriarty. Sherlock holds the gun more rigidly, tracking Moriarty with the gun as he walks away.

"Catch…you…later," Sherlock says as he walks towards John, keeping the gun trained on its intended target until Moriarty is no longer in sight.

"No you won't." The high pitched sing-song voice sets Sherlock's teeth on edge.

Sherlock takes a breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's unthinkable that they've gotten out of this so easily. After about thirty seconds, when nothing explodes and no gun shots go off, Sherlock dismisses his darker voices and moves to free John. He bends down, placing the gun on the pool tiling and drops to one knee in front of John, his hands frantically working to unfasten the vest. Some part of his brain is whispering to him that it would be just like Moriarty to make them think they're safe, only to blow John up right in front of Sherlock. He did, after all, say he was going to burn Sherlock's heart out and from the look on his face as he said it, Moriarty knows exactly who has full possession of Sherlock's heart.

"All right?" Sherlock's voice cracks and he's pretty sure John didn't hear the entire question. He repeats it, knowing how anxious his voice sounds. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah." From the breathy tone in his voice and the fact that he keeps repeating himself, Sherlock can tell that John isn't entirely okay, but with what they've just been through, it's understandable; and it's not like Sherlock isn't shaking himself. He's having a devil of a time getting the damned vest off. "Yeah, I'm fine."

John has just been standing there, getting his breath back as Sherlock gets to his feet, pulling on the vest. Now Sherlock realizes that he's also gotten the edges of John's jacket as well and everything is tangled up and caught on John's shoulders. Sherlock hears a clock ticking in his head, counting down what Sherlock perceives as Moriarty's patience levels and he feels the desperate need to get the explosives off of John before something truly horrible happens. Sherlock tugs more insistently on the vest, freeing his fingers from the edges of the jacket and he pulls John slightly off balance. John takes an awkward step, then catches himself.

"I'm fine. Sherlock. Sherlock! Oh Jeesh."

Sherlock finally tugs so hard that John stumbles two steps back, but the vest comes off and Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief as he shoves the vest across the tiling and away from them. Sherlock turns to look at John, who is standing there, pulling in great gulps of air and looking slightly shell shocked. He's shaken, but safe and a sudden flash of anger runs through Sherlock. Moriarty changed the rules when he involved John and Sherlock thinks now might be a good time to find the bastard and discuss the finer points of renegotiation. Sherlock bends down, grabbing the gun on his way past and runs through the door.

It doesn't take him long to figure out that Moriarty is gone. Sherlock has the sudden fear that maybe Moriarty doubled back and Sherlock realizes that he's left John unprotected. He turns and races back to the pool where he finds John, slumped against the side of one of the changing rooms, gasping and shaking. He doesn't appear injured and Sherlock understands that the shock must have finally caught up with him. Sherlock's first instinct is to go to John, to touch him, make sure he's okay, calm him down a bit. But he knows that John is sensitive about appearing weak, so he starts to pace, expending frustration and thinking.

He really doesn't like where his thoughts are going. As much as Sherlock hates to admit it, and against all logic, Moriarty knows. How he knows isn't really relevant right now, eclipsed by the plain truth that he _knows_. He's found a weakness in Sherlock, one that no one else has seen and that Sherlock's been fighting to conquer for weeks. The thought that Sherlock keeps coming back to is that because Moriarty does know exactly how to hurt Sherlock the most, John is in terrible danger. As he paces, Sherlock thinks he should have Mycroft send John away, put him somewhere safe where Moriarty will never find him. But the idea of a life without John causes an aching in Sherlock's chest. And it's not like John would go willingly anyway, no matter what Sherlock said to him. John is too brave and loyal to run away, even if it would save his life.

Sherlock thinks about how John had grabbed Moriarty tonight, willing to face the consequences, just to save Sherlock and he feels decidedly grateful to have this man in his life. He looks over to where John is still leaning on the wall, pulling in deep, noisy gulps of air. John looks back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" John asks, concern heavy in his voice.

Why does John have to be so noble? John is the one who was kidnapped, John is the one who had explosives strapped to his body, John is the one who just about died, and here he is, worrying about Sherlock. Sherlock shakes his head, trying not to be overwhelmed by his affection for this man.

"Me? Yeah. Fine. I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock is still pacing and running his hands through his hair distractedly. He looks over at John, needing to tell him how he feels, but not being able to find the words. "That uh…thing that you uh…that you did that um…" Sherlock pauses, clearing his throat. "…that you offered to do…that was um…good."

Oh, yes, what an elegant speech that was. How is it that when he wants to say something to make John understand his importance, Sherlock's brain completely deserts him?

"I'm glad no one saw that," John says quietly.

It takes a second for that to sink in. What in the world does he mean by that? Sherlock stops pacing and leans in looking at John.

"Hm?"

"You. Ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

It certainly isn't what Sherlock expects John to say and he stifles a smile, relaxing at the easy banter. He looks at John.

"People do little else."

Sherlock can't stop the grin as John snorts a laugh and starts to get to his feet. As John leans forward, Sherlock suddenly realizes he still has the gun in his hand. How had he forgotten that? He puts it in his coat pocket and steps to help John, taking his arm to give him support. Sherlock's eyes go wide and he gasps when he feels a shock go through him at the sensation of John under his fingers. John looks up at him, studying his face and Sherlock swears he sees threads of desire in John's eyes.

"We…uh…we should…get a cab," Sherlock says, unable to look away.

John slowly nods, still looking at Sherlock and the tension around them ratchets up a few notches. Sherlock moves closer to John, feeling the warmth of his body even from this distance. Sherlock's hand is still on John's arm and Sherlock now turns, bringing his other hand up to rest on John's lower back. Sherlock is prepared for John to step away or flinch and abortive contingency plans are running around at the back of his brain. He is not, however, anticipating that John will step forward so that they are pressed against each other and when John does, Sherlock's mental musings crash to a halt. Sherlock swallows, looking down into John's eyes, his heart beating faster as he sees emotions swirling behind those eyes; affection, admiration, loyalty, desire…arousal. Sherlock realizes that he's leaning forward, tilting his head just a bit, lining his mouth up with John's. When did that happen? Before he can give it more though, he starts to bend down, his hand on John's back tightening, pulling him closer. He can smell John, subtle and spicy, tea and aftershave and he can feel the warmth of his skin just centimeters from Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's brain is going hazy with need. Any second he'll be tasting John's lips and that thought sends waves of heat through Sherlock. And then John gives a little cough and steps back slightly.

"Right. A cab you said?"

Sherlock blinks, feeling slightly disoriented as his mind adjusts to the fact that John is now three feet away, blushing furiously in the dim light of the pool.

"Yes. We should…a cab, yes."

Sherlock looks down at the tiling, struggling not to feel stupid. He's obviously misread John's interest levels. There is no way that John doesn't know what Sherlock had been about to do. Sherlock only hopes that things won't be awkward, now that John knows that Sherlock has feelings for him. If he loses John now… Sherlock is so caught up in his own thoughts that he literally jumps when John touches his hand. He looks up to see John smiling at him.

"Let's go home," John says quietly. He looks around the building. "This place is making me uncomfortable. And I think I'd rather be somewhere more _private_ right now."

Sherlock blinks when John gives his hand a deliberate squeeze as he says the word, "private." There's something about his voice and the way he's looking at Sherlock that makes Sherlock's breath catch. Maybe he wasn't reading John wrong after all. John's thumb starts tracing circles along the back of Sherlock's hand and suddenly Sherlock sees the value in getting away from this God forsaken swimming pool and back to Baker Street. He nods at John.

"Yes, I think going home is an excellent idea." As they start walking for the exit, a thought occurs to Sherlock and he stops. "Damn. We left the vest over there. We need to call Lestrade."

"And then he'll want to interview us to get the whole story," John says glumly. "We could be here all night."

"We could take the vest home and turn it in tomorrow," Sherlock says thoughtfully. At John's look of horror, he frowns. "Not good?"

"Very not good. You want to take enough C4 to level the entire street home with us?"

"We can't just leave it lying around," Sherlock points out.

"Here, let me call," John says, nodding his head as if he's made a decision. He dials his phone, smiling at Sherlock as he waits. "Lestrade, it's John Watson. Funny you should ask. I'll just get right to it; less traumatic that way. Moriarty kidnapped me and strapped three pounds of explosives to my body, but then Sherlock came and got me and Moriarty left. So we're standing at an abandoned swimming pool with a vest covered in C4 and I really need to go home now. No, I'm physically fine, but…yes, right. Couldn't we just…well, I'd rather wait until I'm not shaking so hard that Sherlock has to hold me up. No, really, all I need is to go home and sleep. Right. The Clapham swimming pool. And how long will that be? Thank you. Yes, I'll call you tomorrow. Thank you."

"What did he say?"

"He's sending the bomb disposal squad. They should be here in five minutes or so. We'll get with him for the reports tomorrow. I say we go wait out on the curb, just in case Moriarty decides to set that thing off for fun."

"Good idea, John," Sherlock says nodding.

In actuality, it takes seven minutes for the explosives experts to arrive. Not that Sherlock is counting or anything. They stand side by side on the curb, watching the streets, listening for sirens. It could have been boring or awkward, in fact Sherlock expected that it would be, but it wasn't. On the contrary, for Sherlock it is a fairly engaging seven minutes. John and Sherlock spent the entire time standing, saying nothing, not even looking at each other. John shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stretches out his shoulders. To the casual observer it must look like he's working out muscle kinks or attempting to stay warm, but every move brushes John's hip against Sherlock's and John's fingers skim across the back of Sherlock's wrist. By the time the police show up, Sherlock's breath is coming in excited bursts and he has to look away from John to even put a coherent sentence together.

They are sent on their way fairly quickly and Sherlock finds as they are sitting in a cab on the way to Baker Street that he is beyond trying to be subtle. He reaches out, taking John's hand. After a minute, John squeezes Sherlock's hand and his thumb starts tracing a path along Sherlock's index finger, down and back up his thumb. Back and forth, maddeningly slow. His touch is electric, sending waves of desire through Sherlock. Sherlock looks down, fascinated by the sight of their hands entwined together in the dim light coming through the cab's windows. Sherlock turns his hand over, his fingers brushing John's, increasing the pleasure he feels from John's touch. John stops the movement of his thumb and lets go of Sherlock's hand, turning it over to hold it palm up in his lap.

Sherlock swallows a gasp as John's fingers feather across his palm; this time the shocks go straight to his groin. He draws in a deep breath as John's touch continues up, over his wrist, light and unhurried. John pauses, his ring finger tracing slowly back and forth along the bone of Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock closes his eyes, swallowing and stifling a moan.

The sleeve of Sherlock's shirt prevents John from going further and Sherlock assumes he will either move back down to his hand or stop altogether. Instead John's touch moves up to Sherlock's collarbone, causing his breath to come in gasps. He turns to look at John, fully intending to tell him that perhaps a cab isn't the most dignified place to do this. John looks back at him, his eyes dark with need, his breathing as erratic as Sherlock's. Renewed desire, hot and powerful, shoots through Sherlock. His hand reaches for John and he moves closer, John's leg now pressing against Sherlock's.

Sherlock puts his hand on John's thigh and lightly traces up and down, slowly running from knee to hip, reveling in the gasps and breathy whimpers John is making. Some part of Sherlock's brain admits that he's caught up in the moment, that he's allowing his hormones to override his reason, but he honestly doesn't care. John is reciprocating his affections and Sherlock cannot bring himself to walk away when he's finally being offered what he's wanted for months.

The cab pulls up to 221 and Sherlock fumbles for his wallet pulling out money to pay the driver. Based on the look the cabbie gives him, Sherlock realizes that he's overpaid him rather dramatically, but he just doesn't care. He smiles and nods at the man and quickly follows John out, wanting nothing more than to get inside the building as swiftly as possible. John's hand is shaking as he struggles to fit the key into the lock. It likely doesn't help that Sherlock is pressing himself against John from behind. He feels John draw a deep breath that steadies him and then the door is open. Sherlock follows John in, pulling his suit coat off with every intention of racing up the stairs. But John has other plans and Sherlock finds himself pressed against the entryway wall with John looking up at him, his eyes dark and shining.

"Tease," John whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Not at all," Sherlock says, his voice deep with need. "And if you'll come upstairs with me, I'll show you that I always follow through on my promises."

Sherlock can hear Mrs. Hudson's television and John must hear it too because he nods and steps back from Sherlock. They take the stairs two at a time and Sherlock barely hears the door close behind them as he turns, pressing John back against it. Sherlock's hands come up, holding John's face as Sherlock looks down, studying it, committing the happy, aroused expression to memory.

"Sherlock?" John whispers. "Everything okay?"

Sherlock nods.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Sherlock doesn't want to be this serious right now. He wants to just enjoy finally having John in the way he's only been allowed to in his dreams until tonight. But he can't silence his thoughts and he needs John to understand how important he really is to Sherlock. Sherlock gently strokes John's cheek with his thumb.

"I thought I was going to lose you tonight, John."

John gives him a wry smile.

"I thought you might too."

Sherlock is mildly horrified by that and he's shaking his head emphatically.

"Don't say that, not even as a joke."

John's expression goes very serious.

"I wasn't joking. I'm still not sure how we got out of that in one piece." John reaches out, touching Sherlock's face with gentle fingers. "God, when I saw the sniper's scope on your forehead, I was thinking I might lose you too."

Sherlock realizes that he's shaking and he looks down at John, feeling overwhelming affection and desire.

"I need you, John," Sherlock says, his voice deep and soft in the silence of the flat.

"I'm right here, Sherlock."

And then Sherlock is moving, bending in to kiss John. A jolt goes through him as their mouths meet and Sherlock hears a moan, startled to realize that he made the noise. But his embarrassment is short lived when John opens his mouth and his tongue starts stroking Sherlock's. Sherlock presses against John, his hips jerking involuntarily as John nibbles Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock pulls back, gasping for air.

"Too…too many…clothes." It isn't eloquent, but it gets the point across and John is nodding in agreement.

Sherlock's fingers are shaking and he can't seem to work the buttons on his shirt. He growls in frustration and John laughs.

"Here, let me help you."

John's voice is low and smooth and it makes Sherlock's heart beat even faster. Sherlock notes that John's shirt is already undone and hanging open. He can see the bare skin of John's chest and stomach and he aches to touch it. It only takes a few seconds and then John is pushing Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

"Better?" John whispers.

Sherlock nods, stepping forward to remove John's shirt. Sherlock's long fingers ghost along John's chest, pressing upwards, drifting to his shoulders, taking the offending plaid shirt with them. He lingers a bit savoring the feel of the skin under his hands before tracing down John's arms to leave the shirt on the floor next to Sherlock's. He pulls John to him, gasping when he feels John's skin against his and then he is kissing John again, deep and needy. He can taste John and for a minute, his mind tries to define the flavor, but then John is squeezing Sherlock's arse with both hands and Sherlock decides thinking is overrated.

"Need to feel you," John gasps. "Trousers are in the way."

Sherlock reaches for the button and zip, leaning back in to kiss John as he does. He feels John's hands pulling the trousers and pants down, pushing them off Sherlock's hips. They are suddenly around his ankles and he's kicking off shoes and socks and the trouser puddle, all the while sucking on John's lips. Sherlock finds the button on John's jeans and he makes quick work of them, smiling as he feels John struggling to get free from the jeans and pants.

"Stupid boots," John grumbles, breaking the kiss just long enough to take off the boots and kick his jeans and underwear away.

He steps back into Sherlock's arms and then they are kissing again and running their hands all over each other's bodies.

"Sofa," John murmurs against Sherlock's lips.

"Hm?"

"My legs are shaking again. We need somewhere to sit."

Sherlock nods, kissing John again. He never wants to stop this, it feels so good. He gently steers them around the coffee table and pushes John backwards. John teeters for a second and then falls into a sitting position on the sofa. Sherlock follows him, never losing the connection of their mouths. Now Sherlock has one knee on the couch next to John and he's looming over him, leaning him back and ravaging John's mouth. John's hands come up to Sherlock's hips and he pulls him over until Sherlock is straddling John's lap. It's not unpleasant, but the height difference has Sherlock hunching over. John breaks the kiss and looks up at him.

"Maybe we should switch positions."

"That wouldn't be too much for your legs?" Sherlock asks, reaching down to stroke John's cheek.

"Not if I put all my weight on you."

The image that brings to Sherlock's brain makes his breath catch and he climbs off John's lap and helps John to his feet. Sherlock sits down, settling into the cushions, then reaches up to pull John onto his lap. There's an awkward moment as John gets situated, and then Sherlock's brain shuts down completely as John's hips settle against his. John is leaning towards him and Sherlock grabs his head, pulling him in to resume the kissing. Sherlock's tongue sweeps in and the only thing filling that great brain of his is the taste of John, the low moans John makes, and the amazing sensation of John's hips rhythmically rubbing against his.

John sifts his position slightly and it's just enough so their erections are stroking against each other and Sherlock breaks the kiss, throwing his head back and moaning.

"Oh, god, John. This…" Sherlock breaks off, incapable of any further thought.

"Like this, do you?"

"Yes…I…John." The last word is a long drawn out moan and Sherlock can feel John shiver.

"God, do you know how sexy that sounded?" John gasps.

Sherlock tries to compose some sort of coherent reply, but it's quickly derailed when John leans forward and starts kissing Sherlock's neck. John's hands come up and he gently pinches Sherlock's nipples. No one has ever done that before and Sherlock is unprepared for the jolt that goes straight to his groin. He calls out John's name, his voice sounding desperate to his own ears. John moves up to kiss his mouth again and Sherlock wonders if John likes having his nipples played with too. Sherlock brings his hands up and the sounds John makes against Sherlock's mouth are definitely worth the experiment. John breaks the kiss, gasping.

"Sherlock, I need…I need more."

"What do you want, John?"

John doesn't answer. He reaches out, taking Sherlock's hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and then he guides them down so that their joined hands encircle both their erections. John sets the pace, moving their hands and Sherlock's breath catches in his throat. He barely hears John speaking.

"This might be better for our first time."

Sherlock can only nod, words completely beyond him now. If this is what John wants then Sherlock will gladly go with it. He feels John's grip tighten and bolts of pleasure are shooting along Sherlock's spine. His hips thrust up, a counter harmony to the rhythm that John's set and he feels John doing the same. John leans forward, capturing Sherlock's lips and they are desperately kissing, all tongues and heat, as the pleasure builds in Sherlock's stomach. He feels John start to shake and he almost worries until he hears the deep, breathy moans John is making against Sherlock's lips. John leans back, pulling in great gulps of air, and then he's screaming Sherlock's name and Sherlock is watching indescribable pleasure washing over John's face. Sherlock holds on as long as he can, not wanting to miss a moment of John's release, but then he can't fight it anymore and his world narrows to one moment, one heartbeat, exploding out in sensation and light, every cell aching in perfect pleasure. Sherlock hears himself screaming John's name and he feels like he might be turning inside out for a couple of seconds. And then he is sitting on the couch with John on his lap, their foreheads resting against each other, fighting to catch their breath. John shifts his hips and moves to the side, sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "My legs were starting to cramp."

"It's not a problem," Sherlock says quietly.

He's not entirely sure how to handle this situation. Sex has never really been his thing and most of his experiences were when he was heavily under the influence of drugs. The post coital cuddling and conversations never really factored in. But this is John and Sherlock honestly cares for him. He will not let this be awkward. It might be new, but he'll learn, for John's sake. Sherlock feels John shiver next to him and he realizes that he's a bit cold himself. They need a blanket. Sherlock knows they normally keep one on the back of the sofa, but a quick glace tells him it's not there. Did he throw it to the side this morning? He can't remember. Sherlock pushes himself up, moving across the sofa to look on the floor. No, not there. Behind, maybe? Sherlock leans way over the side, still not seeing anything. He scans the room, looking at the chairs and the desk, not seeing any sign of the blanket. Sherlock sighs, giving it up as a lost cause. Maybe it would just be better if they moved to Sherlock's bed. The idea of the two of them snuggled up together under the covers sounds very nice to Sherlock and he moves back over to propose it to John. John is look at him oddly, but it doesn't really register at first.

"John, I'm sorry, but…"

Before Sherlock can expound on the blanket situation, John cuts him off.

"Don't. I…god, what have we done?" Sherlock's heart starts to beat faster and he's suddenly sure he doesn't want to hear the next thing John says. "This is…this was a mistake."

Sherlock blinks, unable to form a coherent thought. He feels like someone's slapped him and he struggles to come up with something, anything to say. He wants to tell John he's wrong or beg him to take it back, but he just can't find the words. And then Sherlock realizes something. They almost died tonight. He should have thought about that and the resulting adrenaline high and what it meant. John hadn't wanted Sherlock, he'd only been reacting to the chemicals that flooded his body. And Sherlock, who really should have known better, had taken advantage of that. There's a level of not good here that makes Sherlock feel ashamed. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock whispers.

John doesn't say anything, he just nods at Sherlock and then he's getting up from the couch, gathering up his clothes. Without saying a word, he leaves the room and Sherlock can hear him climbing the stairs. Sherlock closes his eyes, fighting the urge to scream. He should have known better. No one has ever loved Sherlock and he should be realistic in knowing that no one ever will. This is what happens when you let your guard down and give in to emotions. You make a mess of things and hurt the only person who means anything to you. Sherlock shakes his head and gets to his feet. He won't ever make this mistake again.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

(Reset:) Wednesday March 30, 2011 (12:30 am) - John's point of view –

This isn't how John envisioned his night going. When he'd left the flat to go talk to Sarah, the worst thing he'd thought might happen was for her to cry or call him profane names. Okay, maybe she might have chucked something at his head when he told her that their relationship just wasn't working, but he doubted it. She was the one who said to him that Sherlock was more important to John than she was. He's pretty sure she knows this is coming and he's honestly surprised that she wasn't the one to say it first. He was prepared for an emotional breakup and for having to come up with some excuse to explain to Sherlock why he was home early without cluing him in to what's really going on. What hadn't been anywhere on his radar was being grabbed, chloroformed, and wrapped up in enough explosives to make a fairly impressive crater in the middle of downtown London.

Sherlock had said they were a pip short; there was just no way either of them could have known that particular honor was being reserved for John. He hadn't been surprised when Sherlock had shown up; Moriarty said he would and it was all part of the game. He is, however, slightly shocked at how shaken his friend seems when he figures out John's predicament. John tries not to read anything into it. Sherlock is worried, but that doesn't mean anything beyond that he hates to be beaten. It certainly doesn't mean he returns John's feelings in any way. Seeing Sherlock displaying actual emotion makes John all the more determined to stay calm and figure a way out of this. John finds himself slipping into military mode, looking for any escape or advantage and holding himself ready to act on it.

John supposes he should be stunned when Moriarty turns out to be Molly's creepy boyfriend, but once he sees the face, the voice in his ear makes sense and he's embarrassed that he didn't figure it out sooner. The banter between Sherlock and Moriarty fades into the background as John studies his enemy's movements, looking for weaknesses or patterns that he can use to his advantage and when Moriarty focuses all his attention on Sherlock and throws the missile plans into the pool, John finds that he's moving before he really thinks about it. He supposes that it might be odd that he's willing to die for Sherlock, but as fast as their friendship formed, as quickly as John's feelings developed and as strong as they are, it makes perfect sense to him. If John dying keeps Sherlock safe, then it's a small price to pay. He didn't honestly expect Sherlock to leave him there and save himself, but there is a slight flutter in his chest when he sees that Sherlock stayed. It dies fairly quickly though when he sees the red light on Sherlock's forehead and John quickly releases Moriarty and steps back. Moriarty already made one mistake, John will wait for another.

The conversation between the other two men doesn't exactly make sense to John. The words do, but he senses that there's a deeper meaning that he's missing, especially when Moriarty says that they both know that Sherlock really does have a heart. It plays like it's just part of the verbal sparring they are engaged in, but the slightly panicked look on Sherlock's face and the quick glance he shoots at John make it feel like it's something else completely. And then shockingly, Moriarty is walking away and no one is dead. John refuses to believe that they got off this easily.

Sherlock holds the gun more rigidly, tracking Moriarty with the gun as he walks away and John stands perfectly still, not wanting to distract Sherlock in case Moriarty does something unexpected.

"Catch…you…later," Sherlock says as he walks towards John, keeping the gun trained on its intended target until Moriarty is no longer in sight.

"No you won't." The high pitched sing-song voice is just wrong and it sends a shiver through John.

They stand there, looking at each other, waiting for something horrible to go wrong. John holds himself tense, ready to jump to Sherlock's aid should the occasion arise. And then Sherlock is moving, flinging the gun on the pool decking and dropping to one knee in front of John, his hands frantically working to unfastening the vest. John's heart is pounding in his chest and he's grateful that Sherlock is taking charge because John's mind is still a bit foggy from the panic.

"All right?" Sherlock says and John isn't sure what the whole question was. Before he can ask, Sherlock is repeating it, slowing it down and enunciating. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah." John wants to let Sherlock know he's okay, but he seems to be at a loss for words. Only one seems to be available to his brain and he finds himself repeating it. "Yeah, I'm fine."

John has just been standing there, getting his breath back as Sherlock gets to his feet, pulling on the vest. It seems like Sherlock's been struggling with this for a while and John realizes that he's also gotten the edges of John's jacket and everything is tangled up and caught on John's shoulders. Sherlock tugs more insistently on the vest and he pulls John slightly off balance. John takes an awkward step, then catches himself.

"I'm fine. Sherlock. Sherlock! Oh Jeesh."

Sherlock finally tugs so hard that John stumbles two steps back, but the vest comes off and John feels a rush of relief as Sherlock tosses the vest across the decking and away from them. John turns to ask Sherlock what they should do now, but he sees Sherlock bend down, grabbing the gun on his way past and run through the door. John wonders if he should follow him, but then John's knees buckle and he stumbles up against the changing room wall, leaning on it for support.

"Oh, Christ." He squats there gasping in air. "Oh."

He's shaking and he's dizzy. _Shock_ his brain whispers to him. He thinks he should be worried about it, but before he can force his mind to focus, Sherlock is back. John looks up to see him pacing and…is he running the gun through his hair? John hopes the safety is on, but he can't find the breath to ask. John is still leaning on the wall, pulling in deep, noisy gulps of air, but he doesn't like the distracted look on Sherlock's face or the careless way he's holding the gun. John looks at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" John asks, concern heavy in his voice.

Sherlock blinks, looking at John like he's not understanding the question. When he speaks, it all comes out in a rush.

"Me? Yeah. Fine. I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock is starts pacing again running the gun through his hair and waving it around. John is pretty sure he doesn't even realize he's still holding it. "That uh…thing that you uh…that you did that um…" Sherlock pauses, clearing his throat. "…that you offered to do…that was um…good."

Sherlock seems incredibly nervous and John realizes that gratitude is a new emotion for Sherlock. Expressing it must be close to overwhelming. John decides to defuse things with a little humor.

"I'm glad no one saw that," John says quietly.

Sherlock looks confused for a second. He stops pacing and leans in looking at John.

"Hm?"

"You. Ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

John isn't certain why he says that. He's playing it off as a joke, but he realizes it could be construed as flirting and for a second he's not entirely sure he doesn't mean it that way. Sherlock shakes his head and looks at John.

"People do little else."

John can't help himself and he snorts a laugh as he starts to get to his feet. He looks up to see Sherlock smiling at him. As John leans forward, Sherlock puts the gun in his coat pocket and steps to help John, taking his arm to give him support. John hears Sherlock gasp and he looks up surprised to see…is that desire in Sherlock's eyes? John feels a rush of heat and he can't look away from those amazing eyes.

"We…uh…we should…get a cab," Sherlock says, his voice unsteady, his eyes locked on John's.

John slowly nods. Sherlock moves closer to John, his hand still on John's arm and Sherlock now turns, bringing his other hand up to rest on John's lower back. John can feel the heat of Sherlock's touch, even through the layers he's wearing. John pulls in a breath, letting himself relax into Sherlock's touch. This is what John has wanted for months now and he can't believe Sherlock wants it too. John steps forward pressing himself fully against Sherlock's body. Sherlock swallows, looking down into John's eyes. John's heart starts to beat faster and he feels his body reacting to Sherlock. Oh, how much he wants this man. John sees Sherlock leaning forward, tilting his head just a bit, lining their mouths up. He starts to bend down, his hand on John's back tightening, pulling John closer. John can almost feel Sherlock's lips on his and his body tenses with anticipation. Then he remembers where they are. How bad would it be if they were in the middle of shagging and Moriarty came back? Of course, just because Sherlock is going to kiss him, it doesn't mean they'll end up having sex, but John is pretty sure once he tastes Sherlock's mouth, he won't be able to stop. Better to wait until they are home for this. John gives a little cough and steps back slightly.

"Right. A cab you said?"

Sherlock looks down, his expression confused and hurt and John feels bad for how abruptly he pulled away. John steps closer and reaches out to touch Sherlock's hand. Sherlock looks up and John smiles at him.

"Let's go home," John says quietly. He looks around the building. "This place is making me uncomfortable. And I think I'd rather be somewhere more _private_ right now."

John squeezes Sherlock's hand as he says the word, "private." John traces circles along the back of Sherlock's hand with his thumb, not sure if he's trying to soothe or arouse Sherlock. Sherlock looks up at John, his eyes dark with need and John stifles a shiver. Sherlock nods.

"Yes, I think going home is an excellent idea." They start walking for the exit and Sherlock suddenly stops. "Damn. We left the vest over there. We need to call Lestrade."

John feels frustration. The last thing he wants right now is a night of paperwork.

"We could take the vest home and turn it in tomorrow," Sherlock says and John bites his tongue before he asks if Sherlock is crazy or just stupid. Sherlock frowns. "Not good?"

"Very not good. You want to take enough C4 to level the entire street home with us?"

"We can't just leave it lying around," Sherlock points out.

John thinks about it. If he plays off that he needs some time, maybe Lestrade will let them put off the interrogation for a while. He pulls out his phone.

"Here, let me call," John says. He pulls up the number on his phone and presses connect.

"Lestrade."

"Lestrade, it's John Watson."

"It's awfully late, John," Lestrade says. "Is something wrong?"

"Funny you should ask. I'll just get right to it; less traumatic that way. Moriarty kidnapped me and strapped a vest full of explosives to my body, but then Sherlock came and got me and Moriarty left. So we're standing at an abandoned swimming pool with a vest covered in C4 and I really need to go home now."

"He what?" Lestrade's voice is so loud that it hurts John's ear. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm physically fine, but…"

"Stay where you are. I'll collect my team and we'll be right there."

"Yes, okay," John says, thinking quickly. "But couldn't we just…well, I'd rather wait until I'm not shaking so hard that Sherlock has to hold me up before I have to give an official statement."

"Are you sure? I could send an ambulance."

"No, really, all I need is to go home and sleep."

"I suppose I could give you some time to rest up." Lestrade pauses. "I'll send a bomb disposal team right now and you can come in and give your statements tomorrow. Where did you say you were?"

"Thank you," John says quietly. "We're at the Clapham swimming pool. How long do you think it will be?"

"Probably five minutes or so. John, be careful and call me tomorrow."

"Thank you. Yes, I'll call you tomorrow. Thank you."

John hangs up and smiles at Sherlock.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asks.

"He's sending the bomb disposal squad. They should be here in five minutes or so. We'll get with him for the reports tomorrow." John looks around, feeling a bit uneasy. It would just like Moriarty to set off the bomb now that they think they're safe. He looks back at Sherlock. "I say we go wait out on the curb, just in case Moriarty decides to set that thing off for fun."

"Good idea, John," Sherlock says nodding.

John and Sherlock wait quietly on the curb. John doesn't know what to say and standing out here in full view of the city, putting his hands all over Sherlock seems inappropriate. John thinks for a minute, then he steps closer to Sherlock and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stretching his shoulders. John tries to play it off like he's attempting to stay warm, but every move brushes his hip against Sherlock's and lets his fingers skim across the back of Sherlock's hand. He can hear Sherlock's breath keep catching and John feels a rush of satisfaction that he can do this to Sherlock of all people.

He feels it building on the cab ride home; he'd have had to been in a coma not to. Sherlock is the one who starts it, the touches, the whispers and glances, all of it setting a fire running through John's bloodstream, fueled by the blinding need for this man he's falling in love with. Sherlock runs his fingers over John's hand, sending shocks through John and he fights the urge to just pin Sherlock to the seat and kiss him senseless. Instead, he turns the game back on Sherlock, running his fingers slowly, lightly over Sherlock's wrist and throat, hearing the gasping little moans Sherlock makes. John's arousal cranks up another few notches when Sherlock looks up at him, eyes dark with desire and John can barely catch his breath. Sherlock moves closer, pressing their legs together and then his hand is running over John's knee and John's finding it impossible to think.

They get to Baker Street and John is out of the cab before Sherlock can even finish paying the driver. He fumbles the keys from his pocket, his hands shaking as he tries to unlock the door. He feels Sherlock come up behind him and then Sherlock is pressed against his back and John is having a hard time breathing. He stops and closes his eyes, pulling in a deep, steadying breath, allowing him to focus and get the damn door open. He swears he can feel Sherlock chuckling against his back.

He turns around when they get inside and sees that Sherlock has pulled his jacket off. John sheds his and then he's moving towards Sherlock, pinning him to the wall, reveling in the sound of Sherlock's breath catching.

"Tease," John whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Not at all," Sherlock says, his deep voice doing riotous things to John's hormones. "And if you'll come upstairs with me, I'll show you that I always follow through on my promises."

John can hear Mrs. Hudson's television and he realizes that this isn't the place for this. He nods and steps back from Sherlock. They take the stairs two at a time and John is still forming a plan of attack when Sherlock pins him to the back of the door. Sherlock's hands come up, holding John's head and Sherlock looks down at him, studying his face. There's an expression there John can't read and he worries for a second.

"Sherlock?" John whispers. "Everything okay?"

Sherlock nods.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"I thought I was going to lose you tonight, John."

John gives him a wry smile.

"I thought you might too."

Sherlock shakes his head.

"Don't say that, not even as a joke."

John has never seen Sherlock this shaken.

"I wasn't joking. I'm still not sure how we got out of that in one piece." John reaches out, touching Sherlock's face with gentle fingers. "God, when I saw the sniper's scope on your forehead, I was thinking I might lose you too."

John looks up and sees Sherlock's eyes, dark with passion.

"I need you, John," Sherlock says, his voice deep and soft in the silence of the flat.

"I'm right here, Sherlock."

And then Sherlock is moving, bending in to kiss John. It is amazing and tender and John loses himself in being with Sherlock. He isn't sure how much experience Sherlock has or how fast they should go and he gauges his actions on Sherlock's responses. John revels in the touches and kisses, almost surprised at how much Sherlock likes to kiss. Not that John is complaining; he really enjoys it too. Just being allowed to run his hands all over the body he's been admiring for months brings him close to sensory overload.

He has to admit that straddling Sherlock's lap while they jointly stroke each other isn't the first thing on his list, but it seems more appropriate to what Sherlock needs and it is rather amazing. It's not the most mind blowing orgasm John's ever had, but it ranks up there in the top twenty. Definitely not bad for their first time. Watching Sherlock's face, seeing all the logic fall away, the pure need and emotion take over as he gasps and screams John's name, is everything John hoped it would be. John's emotions swell and he's almost overwhelmed with how much he feels for this man. If he was falling in love before, he's completely lost now.

He wants to stay like this forever, his forehead against Sherlock's feeling the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart, but John's legs start to cramp and he moves off Sherlock, lying next to him on the couch.

And that's pretty much when everything goes to hell.

John is lying on the sofa, his brain hazy, his body basking in the lingering pleasure. A shiver goes through him and John realizes that he's cold. He smiles as he thinks that there is a perfect remedy for his problem sitting right next to him. John is a huge fan of cuddling and there's nothing like a little shared body heat to ward off the chill. John sits up a bit, reaching out to pull Sherlock to him, but his fingers brush the sofa cushion as Sherlock moves away, putting almost a meter between them. John frowns, then shakes his head as he decides that maybe Sherlock is just one of those people who needs his personal space. Not everyone is as tactile as John is. John looks over at Sherlock and feels the first stirrings of uneasy as he realizes that Sherlock isn't even looking at him; in fact, he's looking the opposite direction and from what John can see of his posture, he's distracted.

John tries very hard not to read anything into it, but his brain is screaming at him that this was all a mistake. Sherlock's always said that relationships are not his area, but when he leaned in to kiss John at the pool tonight, John had wild hopes that he'd changed his mind. And the way he'd touched John and kissed him, telling John that he needed him, it was everything John had been dreaming about for months. How could it all change so fast?

And then it hits John; oh lord, the adrenaline high. John is a doctor, he should have considered that Sherlock wasn't completely thinking when he'd started all this. John looks over at Sherlock, who is looking at the floor and frowning. Great, just great. Now that he's back in his right mind, Sherlock regrets this. John swallows, trying to stem back the overwhelming pain and disappointment he's feeling. Sherlock shakes his head and moves back over to where John is sitting. He takes a breath and suddenly John is certain that he doesn't want to hear this.

"John, I'm sorry, but…"

"Don't," John interrupts, cutting him off. "I…god, what have we done? This is…this was a mistake."

He looks up to see Sherlock staring at him, his expression unreadable. John wants Sherlock to contradict him, to tell him he's wrong and that Sherlock really does love him, but looking at that blank cold expression, John knows that this all happened because of the adrenaline and that it was all physical, after all. Sherlock isn't interested in John, he's married to his work and John will never be more important than that. John has the sudden fear that this will ruin everything after Sherlock comes back to himself and as much as he is falling for his flatmate, he'd rather have Sherlock as a friend, then not have him at all. He looks up to tell Sherlock that and sees him frowning. Sherlock presses his lips together and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock whispers.

John doesn't say anything. He doesn't have any words and he couldn't find the will to say them if he did. He just hurts too much. He just nods at Sherlock and then he gets up from the couch, gathering up his clothes. Without saying a word, he leaves the room, not really caring if Mrs. Hudson sees him naked. He feels so defeated as he climbs the stairs to his room.

xxxxxxxx

Wednesday March 30, 2011 (2:30 am) – John's Point of View

John lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It's been a while since he's felt this hopeless; not since he moved in with Sherlock. That thought brings a whole different set of worries with it and John is biting his lip, trying not to give in to despair. How had this happened? How had everything gone from so perfect to completely broken that quickly? He wants to think they will work this out or at least get past it, but a part of him is worried that they'll never get that easy camaraderie back.

John wonders if it would just be easier on both of them if he moves out, but the suffocating ache he gets when he thinks about that makes him put it as his choice of last resort. John can't help but think he could have stopped this somewhere along the way, though he's not sure where. What he has with Sherlock is so important to him, how had he let it get this messed up? John sighs. He really needs tea, so he pulls on his pajamas and braves facing Sherlock. Maybe they can even talk it out over the tea.

He's surprised when he gets downstairs to find the sitting room empty. It's not like Sherlock to retreat to bed this early. He must really be upset. John busies himself making tea, losing himself in the calming minutia of the task. It makes him feel a bit better, but he still can't fight the dark thoughts running through his head.

He's just settled on the sofa with his cup of tea when he feels eyes on him and turns to see Sherlock watching him from the doorway. Sherlock steps forward, his expression all anxiety and confusion. He opens his mouth, drawing in a breath, but then closes it, looking frustrated. There's an almost palpable tension in the room and John can't stand it. It's not supposed to be like this between them. John's always been comfortable enough with Sherlock to put his life in Sherlock's hands, even at the very beginning and now they can't even talk to each other.

"What were you going to say?" John's voice sounds loud in the silence of the flat.

"It's not important," Sherlock answers, his tone clipped.

"Of course it is. What were you going to say?"

Sherlock glares at him.

"I said it wasn't important."

John sighs, suddenly feeling tired. So this is how it's going to be between them from now on. John's pretty sure he can't deal with this.

"Sherlock, I'm going to move out."

John hadn't intended to be so blunt, but suddenly, there it was. Sherlock just stands there, staring at John, his expression neutral and John wishes he had Sherlock's ability to read people. Is Sherlock even bothered by this at all? Sherlock looks at John and simply nods. John's breath catches and he's surprised at how hurt and disappointed he feels. Shouldn't Sherlock be at least a little upset? Even if he only sees John as a friend, shouldn't he fight for that? Maybe he just can't get past the mistake they made and now he wants John out of his life. John looks at him, hoping for some sign as to what Sherlock is thinking. Sherlock nods at John again and turns, walking out of the room and John bites his lip against the despair.

He sits for a few minutes, but everything seems so pointless now and he just wants to go to bed. He puts his mug on the coffee table; he'll deal with it in the morning, and he slowly climbs the stairs to his room. Tomorrow he'll start looking for a new place to live, as much as he doesn't want to. What else can he do?

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

(Reset:) Wednesday March 30, 2011 (2:30 am) - Sherlock's point of view:

Sherlock paces the length of his bedroom, his distress mounting with each circuit he makes. Try as he might, he cannot turn off these pesky, hateful feelings and he can't ignore how much he hurts. Why did he ever let this happen and more importantly, how can he fix it now? He has no answers and that just adds to his frustration. He wonders if it wouldn't be easier to just delete his feelings for John, but then realizes that not only would that be impossible, but he really doesn't want to.

Sherlock feels the sudden need to play his violin. Nothing helps him sort his jumbled thoughts like the precision count of music. Sherlock sighs, pulling his robe tighter around him and stalks out, heading for the sitting room. He stops just inside the door when he sees that John is sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea.

Sherlock steps forward, his heart beating faster. He wants to apologize to John, to fix this and make it better, but he can't find the words. John looks over at him, saying nothing and Sherlock feels a horrible tension that's never been between them before. He draws in a breath to talk, then releases it, still not sure what he should say. John looks up at him.

"What were you going to say?"

Sherlock wants to tell him, wants ask John where it went wrong, but he doesn't know how to say it. He feels frustration building and shakes his head.

"It's not important," Sherlock snaps.

"Of course it is. What were you going to say?"

Sherlock wants to throttle John. Why won't he just let this go? If Sherlock knew what he wanted to say, he'd have said it. Something about this whole thing makes him feel slow and stupid and emotionally damaged. No wonder John doesn't want to be with him. He looks up to see John watching him expectantly and it irritates him all the more.

"I said it wasn't important."

John sighs and shakes his head.

"Sherlock, I'm going to move out."

Sherlock can hear his blood pounding in his ears and everything goes a bit hazy at the edges and he thinks for a second that this must be what a heart attack feels like. His mind catches on the irony of that statement and he's fighting back hysterical laughter. Sherlock swallows hard and looks at John. Sherlock wants to argue, to tell John that leaving is not an option, but instead he finds himself nodding in resignation. He won't force John to stay against his will.

John is looking at Sherlock like he expects him to say something but suddenly, Sherlock is feeling very overwhelmed. He nods at John again and turns going back to his room, needing to be away from John and all the feelings he's stirring up.

Sherlock throws himself down on his bed, feeling like he's drowning, like he can't get any air in his lungs. How has John reduced him to this? And how has Sherlock destroyed their friendship so completely? As he lies there, unable to think, running his hands desperately through his hair, he suddenly realizes that he will do anything to fix this, if only he knew what went wrong.

There's a deeper level of frustration when Sherlock's first instinct when he can't solve the problem is to go to John. John can usually help him work his way through any puzzle. Unless John is the problem. Sherlock growls, rubbing his forehead. Why does this have to be so complicated? Sherlock's head starts thumping and he wonders if this is what going crazy feels like. Sherlock pulls in a shaky breath and suddenly everything feels clearer. Why _can't_ he just ask John's advice? After all, at this point, what does he have to lose? If John's going to leave anyway, why not at least try to fix it?

xxxxxx

Wednesday March 30, 2011 (3:30 am) - Sherlock's point of view:

Sherlock gets back up and goes to the sitting room, but the lights are off and John isn't there. Sherlock turns on the hall light and goes up the stairs, determined to work this out or go down trying. John's door is open and Sherlock walks in, standing just inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness while he thinks of something to say.

"Sherlock?" John's voice startles him and he's proud that he doesn't jump. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock hears concern in John's voice and he considers several answers, finally settling on the only one that seems appropriate.

"No."

He hears John shift on the bed.

"What…" And John is up, moving towards him and Sherlock just stands there helplessly, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"I…I can't…what can I do?"

Sherlock knows it doesn't make any sense, but he hopes that John can figure out what he means. He sighs when he sees John frowning. Why does his brain desert him whenever he _needs_ to talk to John?

"I don't understand. I'm going to need more nouns, Sherlock."

"Don't go." It's all Sherlock can think to say.

"Okay, not nouns, but we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock feels like he should be insulted by that, but he's just too grateful that they are actually talking. He looks at John, standing in the half light from the hallway.

"So, you won't?" Sherlock whispers.

"Sherlock…"

"Please, John, I'll do anything to fix this." He knows he sounds desperate and pathetic, but Sherlock doesn't honestly care. His mind is finally working and he's going to make John understand.

"You can't help how you feel and you shouldn't feel guilty for it," John says gently.

"But I do. I didn't mean to upset you so much. How do I fix it? I really don't know."

"Sherlock, there isn't much we can do now."

"But…I'll take it back," Sherlock says desperately.

"I'm sorry?" John sounds genuinely shocked.

"We can pretend it never happened," Sherlock says, picking up speed as he goes. "We'll never mention it again."

John stands there quietly and Sherlock gets the sense that he's made yet another mistake. After a minute, John sighs.

"Do you really think belittling my feelings is the answer?"

"I'm trying to honor your wishes, give you what you wanted," Sherlock says in frustration.

"How is this giving me what I want?" John's voice is hard with an angry edge. "Are you really so clueless?"

"I'm trying!" Sherlock starts pacing, three steps one way, three steps back, trying to control his mounting dismay. "I'm sorry that I thought you felt the same way I did. I should have asked, but the way you were kissing me…I thought you wanted it too. I should have thought about you getting caught up in the moment."

"Wait…hold on a second," John says, stepping in front of Sherlock and halting his movement. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, John."

"No, the part about wanting it too?"

"I honestly thought that you did, John. I would have never taken advantage of your adrenaline high if I had thought for a moment…"

"Stop," John says, interrupting him again. Sherlock keeps going, needing John to understand how sorry he is.

"John…"

"No, just stop for a minute." John looks at him, frowning. "We've both been pretty vague about these feelings we both keep apologizing for. Sherlock, how do you feel about me?"

"John…" Sherlock breaks off, staring at him, knowing it's stupid. He's already had sex with John and now he's sticking on actually voicing his feelings? He looks at John, feeling some desperation.

"Do you trust me?" John asks. Sherlock nods. "Then tell me? Please?"

Sherlock takes a deep breath. If there's anyone that he would jump for, it's John. Sherlock thinks that it might be easier to take a bullet for John than to actually say this, but this is what John wants, so Sherlock jumps, praying John won't let him fall.

"I…I care deeply for you, John. No one has ever been as important to me as you are. Why do you think I didn't leave at the pool? There was no way I would have let you come to harm. You mean far too much to me."

John is nodding at him, his expression unreadable.

"And are you attracted to me? Physically?"

"You couldn't tell from the noises I was making earlier?" Sherlock asks, a bit embarrassed.

"I don't want there to be any ambiguity here, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course I am. Not that it matters."

"It matters more than you think it does," John says, smiling. "Because I feel the same way about you."

"But…" Sherlock blinks, his mind reeling. What is John saying? "You said it was a mistake."

"I said that because I thought that's what you were thinking. You moved away from me after we were done."

Sherlock shakes his head. John thought…he thought Sherlock had changed his mind?

"No, John," Sherlock says gently. "I was trying to find the blanket to cover us."

"You were what?" John is staring at him with wide eyes.

"But I couldn't find one. I was trying to tell you that, but you distracted me by telling me it was all a mistake."

"Let me see if I get this." John says, shaking his head. "You wanted us to get together, you really enjoyed it and were thinking possible relationship and I read the signals all wrong and that's why were standing here at 3 am instead of sleeping in the same bed all cuddled up?"

"I think so. John?"

"Yes?"

"Are you still moving?" Sherlock asks the question in a small voice, afraid to hear the answer.

"God, no, Sherlock. Well, not out of Baker Street. I am however moving right now over to hold you if that's okay."

"Very okay." Sherlock says, smiling. "John?"

"Yes?" John asks, putting his arms around Sherlock.

"Is this…are we…"

"Yes, Sherlock," John says, pulling him closer. "It was a misunderstanding and it's over now. And if you'd like, then yes, we are together now."

"I'd very much like it," Sherlock says, resting his head on top of John's.

John holds him for a minute and Sherlock feels his heart beating. John steps back a little bit and looks up.

"So, when you said you were sorry, but… the rest of the sentence was?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't find the blanket. Would you like to move into my bed?" Sherlock says quietly.

"God, did I get that one wrong," John says, sighing. "I thought it was going to be, 'I'm sorry, but this was a huge mistake.'"

Sherlock frowns at John, then reaches out to touch his face.

"John, how could I ever think that you were a mistake?"

John looks up at him with wide eyes and then they are kissing again.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday March 30, 2011 (4:30 am) - Sherlock's point of view:

Sherlock rolls over, scooting until his back is pressed against John's front. John makes a drowsy murmur and wraps himself around Sherlock, pulling him close.

"Everything okay?" John's voice is slightly slurred with sleep.

"Fine," Sherlock whispers. "My arm was asleep, so I moved."

"'kay," John says, his voice sounding right on the edge of sleep. "Love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock gasps at that last statement, but he can tell from John's breathing that he's asleep again. Sherlock leans back over his shoulder, awkwardly kissing John's face.

"Love you too," Sherlock whispers and there's a wild liberation in saying it. He's pretty sure he couldn't say it to John's face, but here in the dark, with John sleeping, the words actually come to him with ease.

For months now, he's kept that bottled up, fighting it every waking hour and being haunted by it in his sleep. He could never bring himself to say it out loud, but it weaves its way into every part of Sherlock's life. Even the crazy consulting criminal could see that John is important to Sherlock. And now, Sherlock realizes that he's important to John too.

Sherlock feels like he's been emotionally wrung out tonight, but they both learned valuable lessons from it. Sherlock learned that he needs to make sure John knows what he means, even if it's not what he says. If John had known Sherlock was simply after a blanket, not trying to get away from John, then things would have gone much differently. It won't be easy; Sherlock's not used to spelling things out and John is terrible at deducing things, so Sherlock will have to remember to actually talk to John until he gets it. John learned that he needs to trust Sherlock and that he needs to put his insecurities away. Sherlock plans to work on that last one. He's pretty sure with enough affection and reassurance, John will see what Sherlock sees and stop worrying that he's not good enough for Sherlock. Sherlock snorted when John said that to him.

"It's just…I guess I'm afraid that you'll take a closer look at me and realize what you're stuck with. I know I'm not good enough for you and I'm waiting for you to see it." John looked at the wall when he said it, like he was afraid to see Sherlock's reaction.

"Are you daft?" Sherlock asked, frowning at John. "No one else could ever be as perfect for me as you are. There isn't anything about you that I don't like. You may frustrate me sometimes, but I always like you."

John had seemed surprised by that, so Sherlock vowed to tell him more often exactly what he likes about John. Now as he pulls John's arm around him, Sherlock wonders if he should make a list. He could put it up on the refrigerator like one of those insipid quote-a-day calendars. He could put up a new "reason I love John" every day just to be sure that John understands his worth. There has to be at least a years worth of reasons. That idea has merit and Sherlock files it away for later.

Sherlock yawns and closes his eyes. In the morning, everything will go back to normal. They'll go to the yard and give statements and help Lestrade analyze the evidence. John will have to deal with work and Sarah and Sherlock will renew his search for Moriarty. And through it all, they will find a way to make this new relationship a priority. Sherlock promised John and he never breaks a promise; well, not to anyone as important as John.

John promised Sherlock as well, saying again how sorry he was and making sure Sherlock knew that John really did care for him. Then John had asked Sherlock to join him in bed. At first Sherlock thought John was asking for sex again and while sex with John appealed to him, sex with John right now, after being so emotionally battered by the circumstances, did not sound as enticing.

"No, I don't want sex," John said, looking at him oddly. "I just want to be close to you, to hold you and feel you in my arms."

"That sounds nice," Sherlock said, climbing into John's bed.

John had pulled him close and Sherlock settled in, but he couldn't shut down his thoughts.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. All this…if I had just…"

"Sherlock, stop," John said quietly. "I know you're sorry. And I'm sorry too. But it's over. Can we admit that we were both at fault and move on?"

"How do we do that?"

"We just let it go, Sherlock. This is one of those things that it's okay to pretend it didn't happen." John smiled at Sherlock. "And hey, we just made it through our first fight. That's a milestone you know."

"It is?" Sherlock had no idea. Relationships weren't his thing. He was going to have to trust John on this.

"A lot of couples never make it past the first big fight. We did and I think we're closer for it."

"I think I like closer." Sherlock said, nuzzling John's neck. John chuckled and Sherlock decided he could get used to that sound. After a minute, Sherlock frowned. "John, this was our first fight, but we've been together less than twelve hours. Isn't that a bit fast for a milestone?"

"Not for us it isn't," John said smiling. "We seem to always be running on fast forward. I didn't even know you a full day and I shot a man to save your life. I started falling in love with you about two weeks after I moved in and you were willing to trade classified missile plans for my safety tonight, less than 6 months after you first met me. We just aren't the take it slow type."

Now that Sherlock looks back on the conversation, he can't help but smile. John is right, they run on their own timeline and by their own rules and if it's not conventional, that's fine with Sherlock. Sherlock will gladly admit that he started having feelings for John within that first month they were living together. And maybe that was fast, but as John says, their lives just aren't normal.

Sherlock shifts again, trying to adjust his pillow. He settles in against John and has just closed his eyes, when he feels lips on the back of his neck.

"Having trouble sleeping?" John whispers against his skin.

"I'm just thinking," Sherlock replies, closing his eyes and leaning back into the kiss.

"Anything I should worry about?"

Sherlock can't help but smile. It's so very like John to be protective of Sherlock, even against his own thoughts.

"Not really," Sherlock says. "Just running over things, putting them in order in my head."

"Would you like me to distract you a bit?" John asks.

It's a simple question, but Sherlock feels unaccountably grateful to the man who asked it. John understands how Sherlock thinks and that sometimes he just can't shut it all down. Sherlock likes the idea of a little distracting and thinks it might just be the perfect way to stop his wandering mind.

"That actually sounds like a very good idea," Sherlock says turning around to face John, wrapping his arms around John's neck. He looks up at him, smiling, his heart full of love and happiness as John leans in to kiss him.

xxxxxxx

John's point of view

Kissing Sherlock isn't anything like kissing anyone else John has ever been with. It isn't that Sherlock is a man; John has kissed a couple men in his life while he was trying to figure out which way his sexuality leaned. And it has nothing to do with experience levels or anything else so mundane. Sherlock approaches kissing the same way he does everything else and throws himself into it completely. It's like all the focus of that incredible brain is on the connection of their lips and tongues. John can honestly say he's never kissed someone so enthusiastic and focused before.

Right now, they are laying face to face, bodies pressed together knees to lips, with Sherlock's fingers in John's hair, slowly, thoroughly exploring each other's mouths. Sherlock is making little contented noises and that almost make John forget about the unpleasantness earlier. Almost.

John is prepared to admit that the majority of the blame lies with him. He was the one who convinced himself that Sherlock was leaving before the sweat even dried on his skin. John was the one who panicked and ran. He should have known better, should have trusted Sherlock. At the least, he should have talked to him and given him a chance to explain. John wants to say he's learned his lesson about letting his insecurities get the better of him, but he knows it's something he's going to have to continually remind himself about. But for Sherlock, he'll do it. Sherlock cares about him, even if he can't understand how someone as amazing and larger than life as Sherlock Holmes could want someone as ordinary as John. John may see himself that way, but Sherlock made it very clear that he didn't when John expressed his concerns.

"It's just…I guess I'm afraid that you'll take a closer look at me and realize what you're stuck with. I know I'm not good enough for you and I'm waiting for you to see it." John said, not able to look Sherlock in the eyes.

"Are you daft?" Sherlock asked, frowning at John. "No one else could ever be as perfect for me as you are. There isn't anything about you that I don't like. You may frustrate me sometimes, but I always like you."

John was surprised by that answer, but he knows he shouldn't be. From the moment he met Sherlock, it felt like they belonged together in one way or another. John has never gotten this close to someone so quickly and while it feels reckless and mad, it fits in with every other aspect of their lives. He meant it when he told Sherlock that they run on fast forward. But it seems to work for them. John keeps telling himself that they made it through this fight and if they are committed to this relationship, they can make it through anything.

"Stop it," Sherlock says, breaking their kiss and looking up at him. "You're thinking again."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought we agreed we were done apologizing for the night," Sherlock says, stroking the back of John's head.

"I know, but…"

"John…"

John takes a deep breath.

"You're right. It's done. Where was I?"

"Distracting me. But maybe I should be distracting you." Sherlock smiles at John. After a minute his expression goes serious. "John?"

"Hm?"

"If we both need distracting, is it really done?"

Leave it to Sherlock to logic his way right to the heart of it all.

"No, I don't suppose it is done," John admits. "I think it's going to take time to purge this from our hard drives. But that doesn't mean we have to let it damage our relationship."

"Which is why we talked it out earlier," Sherlock says nodding. "John? Why are we still dwelling on it when it's obvious that it was just a misunderstanding?"

Sherlock looks honestly confused and John pulls him closer, kissing his forehead.

"I guess because we can't stop thinking about what would have happened if we hadn't figured it out." John frowns, trying not to think about how close he came to losing Sherlock.

"I wouldn't have let you leave, you know," Sherlock says quietly. John arches an eyebrow at him and Sherlock shrugs. "At least not without making sure you knew how I felt. I'm sorry, John, but I can't go back to a Watsonless existence."

John chuckles, kissing Sherlock's brow again.

"And I don't think I'll ever be able to live Sherlock-free again." John pulls back looking into Sherlock's eyes, suddenly feeling very serious, needing Sherlock to know how he feels. "I never want a life you aren't in, Sherlock. Call me selfish, but I need you and I want to be with you and without you, my world would end."

Sherlock's eyes go wide and he gasps, bringing a hand up to touch John's face.

"As would mine if I ever lost you," Sherlock whispers. "John, I…I love you."

"I know," John says, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I feel it every time you kiss me. I hope that you know that I love you too."

"I do," Sherlock says quietly. He smiles at John. "But I wouldn't be adverse to you showing me again. Just so you know."

John laughs, surprised that he can love Sherlock any more. And yet, here, in bed, holding him and laughing together, he finds that his love has grown a bit more in the last few minutes. For a terrifying second, John wonders if there's a limit or will his love keep growing until he can't breathe from the infiniteness of it. Then he smiles at the absurdity of his thoughts. They have a lifetime to work this out and he suspects that he'll adjust to this as he has to everything else in his life.

"Come here and let me show you then," John says, feeling happier than he's been for a long while.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close and losing himself in the kisses of the man he loves with all his heart.

TBC


End file.
